


Attention

by otoge



Category: Black Wolves Saga
Genre: F/M, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, What Have I Done, mejojo why are you like this, mostly just 4am sin honestly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-04-05 11:43:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14043549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otoge/pseuds/otoge
Summary: His senses were overloading; he had half a mind to wonder what Auger had set aflame in the hall— the heat was seeping into his room. Or was that just his imagination?





	Attention

**Author's Note:**

> Arrested for Horny on Main. Eventually there could be some angst but these will all kind of be separate. Not really continuations of each other.

The blackened sky outside of the window said it all; it was midnight, or at least a little after it. Crickets chirped down below and there were audible gusts of wind every few moments, and atop a high floor of a castle, white ears twitched in irritation.

"Lord Garibaldi,

I regret to inform you that due to the health of my daughter, Fiona, I will have to decline your son Mejojo's proposal. _—FUCK!—_ I am far too concerned about her health _—blah blah fucking....—_ if she were to leave the tower. Your persistence is admirable, but not _—..... wow, that's ....—_

Impatience caused a grunt of nothing but plain annoyance, and Mejojo's eyes skipped without hesitation to the end of the letter, a signature penned out in elegant cursive:

"Signed,  
Earl Edgar Galland"

Ouch. Mejojo gritted his teeth as he skimmed over the latest piece of garbage on his desk. The prince stood, tail flicking back and forth in rage, crumbling up the paper and tossing it behind him as if it meant nothing. It was safe to say that Mejojo was even too angry to pace back and forth at this point. He was a _prince_ of the greatest race in Weblin. In due time he would be the ultimate ruler, the most high, for crying out loud! He was twenty-six years old, and at this point, any request that he could make should be, by all means, _granted!_ Perfectly as well as in alignment with any and all interests he was to show. Just who, pray tell, did Earl Galland think he was? A whirlwind of thoughts swirled in the caithy's mind as he folded his arms against his chest, the thin, light pink silk of his nightrobe folding into sad wrinkles, but no conclusion was found in those few moments. Behind him, the paper he had tossed away did not make a sound, although it should have hit the floor by now. It wasn't like he had noticed that, though; he was very, very busy hating everything that didn't go his way. Everything that made him feel like he was losing. Every _one_ that made him feel like he was losing. It was demeaning; ugly — no, horrifying! Like the brightness of your phone at full light when you wake up in the middle of the night and decide to check the time, but a little more personal of a betrayal. 

"Still at it?" a familiar voice sounded, but Mejojo did not face it, mumbling something unintelligible. The voice came from someone who looked almost exactly like him, the only differences in their clothing and, for the record, piercings; it was just like Auger not to mind being briefly ignored, though, sauntering over carelessly, for he knew that there would be fun in this sensitive topic. He took to hanging over his brother's right shoulder, letting his white tail curl over the left. Auger straightened out the paper in front of him, head hanging a little farther forward so that he could read it while studying Mejojo's expression in the corner of his eye. “And even _I_ was impressed with your last letter. Thought there was no way the old bast-” He quickly corrected himself as Mejojo's ears twitched. “Man. The old man- could turn you down when you mentioned the garden.” Auger stated this with a curious raise of his eyebrows. However, it was unlike him to save a compliment till the end of a conversation. It was undoubtedly in for a good butchering. "Who cares about her anyway...? She's awfully ugly. Don't get why you're so obsessed." Blunt, much?

 _"Shut._ Up."

Plain and simple.

“But really, brother. Honestly. Look me in the eyes when you tell me you don't think she's the ugliest, most horrible, overall bad, dumb, weird freak out there.” Auger continued with the makings of an evil smirk. It was an overstatement to say that Mejojo would never understand why he said such things.

“Auger.” Carefully placed rage, just near the level of bubbling over. Perhaps he would even lash out. He simply was not in the mood even to act like he was mature.

Auger had known he would get this type of reaction, though. Mejojo's temper was not the best kept thing in the world, but its unpredictability made things more fun for him in the long run. So, it was good, right? For... for him, right? Yeah, totally. Mejojo’s attitude wouldn't exactly make the rating of E for everyone, after all. It may have been the way of things for him to make his brother angry all the time —and he noted this carefully, perhaps with a glint in his eye— but there were some places that not even _he,_ Auger Von Garibaldi, would go. "Right, right, alright, then.” said he, giving an exasperated wave of his hands. “Fuck it. Fuck it all, how about? Come play with me later. Maybe we can play hide and seek, or _that_ game. Huh? Nii-san?" Auger prompted him, prodding his shoulder, but didn't wait for a response -—he probably wasn't going to get one, anyhow, judging by the way that Mejojo violently shrugged him off— before leaving as quickly as he came.

 _It's not like father ever wants to play with us anymore._ Good thing _that_ rat didn't escape it's dirty, rusted, ugly, mangled cage. It was an understatement to say that no one was ready for that to reach anyone's ears. It was, simply put, an unopened can of worms that would bring famine probably to the entirety of weblin. Just one sentence, and everyone would die immediately.

But it wasn't like Mejojo didn't know what his brother had been about to say. It was rumored that the two had a type of intuition about each other that can't be exactly understood by anyone else; the truth to that statement really never failed to piss the caithy prince off even more.

Mejojo stood there for a good minute, festering in his anger. There wasn't even a clear thought in his head, he was just a ball of rage. Simply put, it was overwhelming. All of this. The prince thought he was going to blow a head gasket if this kept on. His only question at this point was 'why?'. _Why_ wouldn't Edgar give him what he wanted? _Why_ did he have to try so hard? _Why_ did he have to write letter after letter in hopes of peacefully -that being the key word here- winning over the heads and hearts of the Galland family? And that's a 'Once Again', he might add —yes, the caps add a necessary inflection to the way he was thinking about this— he had already done it once. The public and literally everyone but he and Auger thought that what happened with Elvira was a huge accident that had nothing to do with him and everything to do with a certain wolf whom he did not want to think about. (Despite the thoughts that plagued him at night and whenever he was reminded of a certain game.) So it, in his opinion, made no sense that Fiona could not stay here with him. He had built a nice cottage with a garden, and the fresh air would do her just as well as the air in the tower, so _why_ couldn't things just go his way? Why, why, why, why, _why?_

This would probably be a good time to say it was the last straw. After swiping his fine pens and stationary off of his desk in anger, Mejojo shut and locked the door with a suitable _'wham!'_ That was it. In his eyes, nine years of waiting was more than enough; he shouldn't have to wait for anything in the first place. After Julian had been disinherited, he should have had all of the right components to his plans in his grasp and at his disposal, but there was always something stupid that got in the way. Something meaningless, something absolutely useless, something that made no sense, something Mejojo just couldn't understand or process, no matter how hard he tried. His left hand pinched the bridge of his nose; to put it in simpler terms for the good fellows writing “Mejojo for Dummies, Vol. 1”, he just couldn't take it anymore. He was going to sit here and brainstorm a way to exterminate the Galland family _forever,_ just as he had come up with Genocide Wolf. He wouldn't leave this room until it was settled. Until he had a foolproof plan to have Fiona by his side for the rest of their lives— he wouldn't have it any other way, actually. If Mejojo couldn't get it now, he would just have to become immortal or something. But he would definitely have her in the end. And he wouldn't move until he had it.

... That's ... We definitely believe him, right? Yeah… We totally do. What this turned into was simple, however. The caithy prince found himself face down on his bed, the frown creasing his features likely enough to scare an elderly woman, thinking about everything about the Galland family that he absolutely despised. With all of his heart, there was no doubt that he already disrespected the Earl, Edgar, but the one who could easily be considered worst of all, he barely even wanted to whisper the name of; that impudent knight, Nesso. Nosy, loud, annoying, always getting in the way of everything, and — ironically, the best swordsman he has working for him. Curse him and his stupid red hair. Perhaps if he didn't exist, he could have won Fiona over sooner. After all, she had never seemed to mind his proposals? It was completely logical, though, for her to expect to be married off at her age and rank- which was was what he was saying in the first place! It was totally normal for others her age; her health was the only problem with it. He didn't even really care about her being a lobeira, besides the fact that a certain someone conveniently was a member of the Galland family and also one. But that's besides the point. Mejojo truly hated Nesso for always getting in the way of his amazingly handsome plans; but, he supposed, that was why he had Auger. The ruthless brains of the operation, as you could probably call him, Auger saw loopholes and Mejojo immediately found a way to capitalize on them. But Mejojo had just sent his brother away, and it would be strangely awkward to call him back. There had to be something that only he could think of, something that he was _missing_ about this whole situation. It was actually quite bothersome thinking about it. _Thump, Thump,_ his tail tapped the bed as he thought about it, but it was pretty hard to concentrate. Maybe he was just hungry. Or maybe he was too stressed. Or maybe it was the image of Fiona popping up in his head every time he tried to get a really good hate train going. For some reason, Mejojo felt very stiff.

Wait, _what?_

How ever would he really hate Nesso _now?_ Fiona wasn't supposed to be a distraction. He hardly cared about her. The only reason he wanted her was — oh, shit. This had to be some sort of mistake. Although, none of this was currently running through Mejojo's head. Taking it more as a pleasant surprise than an outrageous never-going-to-happen one, he welcomed the thought of owning her, possessing her just like he wanted to; she was an item for him to possess and nothing more. He would hold her in his hands. He would grab and pull her hair —at this point, it could be noted that Mejojo's cheeks had reddened quite a bit— if that would make her closer to his face. He would kiss her lips as passionately as he desired, even if her frail hands pushed on his chest. He would grab her where he wanted and she would learn not to resist. She would know her family meant absolutely _nothing._ In a perfect world, the Galland family, save for her, would bow to him or die traitors. Knowing this with a smirk, he would kiss her cheek, and slowly move down. He would suck on her neck and — and she would eat, drink, and sleep where and how he told her. And she wouldn't be able to do anything about it. She would make herself look pretty for him, she would dress nicely for him, she would be elegant for him, she would be everything he wanted her to be, and — and more. Yeah, more than even that. _Oh..._ Mejojo shivered, sending goosebumps up his arms, at the thought of seeing Fiona's horrified face, turning to him even with the knowledge of what would happen to her if she looked him directly in the eyes... 'L-Lord Mejojo…’ she would say, upon prompt… his stomach was white hot on fire. His senses were overloading; he had half a mind to wonder what Auger had set aflame in the hall— the heat was seeping into his room. Or was that just his imagination?

It was pretty much downhill from there.

In an instant, a plush white pillow was not in its place against his headboard anymore. His robe opened up with a simple tug of the end of the bow, and Mejojo guided his dick out of his boxers with little hesitation, giving it a few light test strokes with his left hand to coax a reaction. It didn't need much, as it was already standing upwards, hardening quickly (ever so slightly to his surprise, at that)— touch-starved, craving. The pressure was on, he knew this with a wildly carnal gleam in his eye. With a bit of spit to the palm of his hand for a little help in getting along, he was soon thrusting it onto the surface of the pillow, revelling in the feeling of the fabric on his tip. Somehow, we have the feeling he's going to be charged with assault after this, right? … Right? He decided to press his face into the mattress as his face contorted into an incredibly lewd expression of pleasure at the friction, imagining having the apple of his eye pinned down in front of him. Oh boy, he knew he was getting into it when he puckered his lips up against his bedsheets.

Oh, all the people who could walk past this scene right now...

In waves, a feeling of euphoric itchy dizziness washed over him. Although inclined slightly to wonder what exactly it was, Mejojo had been around the block; he knew just what he was getting into, his movements becoming jerky and rushed far too quickly. It was easy to realize that he wouldn't be satisfied just by edging himself, no, it had been far too long for that. And besides, this was very impulsive. He needed it _now,_ he realized with a gulp.

Precum dribbled down his hand as the prince flipped himself over, onto his back, cupping his balls with his right hand as he began to stroke himself with a new sense of urgency. Mejojo imagined a familiar pair of swollen pink lips bobbing up and down all over him and how he would pull her hair to make her go at whatever speed he wanted, however deep she could go, and how he would force her to be his inside and out and everywhere; anywhere she wished. He would make her his, his, _his._ It took all he had not to scream, and he had nowhere to vent all of his pent up frustration and arousal, so he turned back onto his stomach, panting heavily into his sheets. Adjusting himself so that he was on his knees— which looked a little awkward, to anyone trying to imagine this right now, it was safe to say that Mejojo was too preoccupied with his own pleasure to brush away the hair that had fallen into his face or to mind how his headboard rocked and beat against the wall every now and again. Mejojo growled hungrily, taking a bit of the sheets into his mouth so that he didn't make any more noise than necessary. He was warm everywhere and every moment he did not have Fiona in his possession was agonizing, tormenting. His hands, his mouth, every part of him that touched his bed felt like they were sitting on hot coals. The pit of his stomach was twisting into knots; if his back arched or his toes curled any more, they would break. His dick was throbbing in his hand, the pressure beginning to feel like it was just too much. Every bit of his senses were filled with Fiona. He just couldn't get her out of his head until the last moment, when he crashed; and, knowing Mejojo, he crashed hard.

If the caithy clenched his teeth any harder, surely they'd shatter and fall right out of his mouth. Even if he took to biting his lip, he was sure that it would begin to bleed. His hips spasmed as he spread his legs, trying to find any way to feel more pleasure, and it worked— he felt so blindingly good. He wasn't even sure if there was another way to describe the animalistic urges he felt at that moment, or the lazy happiness after it. As his release slammed through him, Mejojo gave a couple more strokes to his twitching former-erection, but eventually flattened himself on his bed, his content more like a state of lethargic bliss, although the throbbing continued for several moments afterwards. It didn't last too long, however, as there was the lingering, haunting thought standing out in his mind;

Mejojo had not quite solved his problem.


End file.
